In this moment, standing tall on the roof of a cop car with the officer still inside, I felt the weight of generations rise with me. He looked up, smirked, and shut the door as if my presence, my defiance, my truth didn’t register as a threat. And maybe it wasn’t.

I am an American. I am trans. I am Afro-Cuban. And I am Christ. Not the Christ used to justify oppression — but the Christ who was hunted, humiliated, and crucified by the state.

I deliberately disobeyed the silent command of the officer seated inside—a refusal to submit to an institution built on slavery, racism, and the violent defense of capital over human life. This is the line I walk: one of fearless expression in the face of state power, without crossing into violence.